


Vendetta

by taispeantas_laethuil



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BAMF!Dorian, Backstory, Community: dragonage_kink, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Revenge, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5543087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taispeantas_laethuil/pseuds/taispeantas_laethuil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three encampments of Venatori which Dorian has a personal interest in- but why?</p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>Dorian learns to work with a team, and parts of his shitty past doesn't catch up with him so much as they're ruthless hunted down and burned to ash. The Bull is intrigued, and a little turned on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

It was technically spring now, but the Hinterlands hadn’t gotten that memo yet, and from the feel of things, wouldn’t be getting it for a while. The grass beneath his boots was stiff with frost, and his bum knee was going to be in agony for at least a week after they returned to Skyhold and its weird-ass magical warmish-weather bubble.

The boss had already turned in for the night, as had Solas and Cassandra, which left him and the ‘vint still up. The Bull wasn’t sure why, and he wasn’t sure Dorian knew either. It wasn’t like they needed to keep watch: this particular camp was long established, and the soldiers could- and were- standing sentinel over them. It also wasn’t like they were having a particularly fun time, either. Dorian was huddled into his cloak, playing idly with the fire, twisting the flames into evermore gruesome and intricate shapes. He kept looking up at the Bull through his eyelashes, like he thought that was being sneaky rather than flirty, trying to catch the Bull flinching.

He wasn’t going to flinch. He might not be comfortable with all this magic crap, but the way Dorian kept the fire stoked kept the Bull from feeling like his horns were going to freeze and snap off, and he’d seen much worse than a mage twisting flames into a shape of a dragon in flight.

That was pretty hot, actually.

“Was there something in particular you wanted to ask me, Bull?” Dorian asked him, after a much longer time than he would have guessed he’d stay quiet.

“Is there something particular you think I should be asking about?” the Bull replied.

“I can think of a few things the Ben-Hassrath would wish to know about me,” Dorian countered evenly, jutting his chin out and looking up at the Bull square-on.

It wasn’t like he was wrong. Dorian of House Pavus was the son of one of the biggest war hawks in the Magisterium and had been apprenticed to one of the Venatori’s (formerly) highest ranking members. He was a person of interest. The Bull had no intention of telling him that, ever. “You’re not a priority, Dorian. The Venatori shitting everything up for the rest of Thedas are. The Qun doesn’t need to know about you as long as they’re still running around.”

That was a lie, and a pretty obvious one too. He was kind of disappointed when Dorian grunted and went back to playing with fire instead of calling him on it.

“Though, if you want to spill a little more information about them, I wouldn’t say no,” he prodded.

“What makes you think I have any more information?” Dorian asked.

“Well, we’re all here on personal business,” the Bull pointed out. “Cassandra’s going after one of her old Seeker cases, Solas is doing something with the Fade-”

“You don’t have any personal business,” Dorian pointed out.

“Yeah, but there’s a dragon.”

Dorian snorted, his eyes rolling. “I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that I would enjoy ridding the world of these parasites every bit as much as you’d enjoy dragon slaying.”

There was something off about that, something that reminded the Bull a bit too much of Seheron, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. The enjoyment? The way he wasn't thinking of these particular 'vints as people? The idea of Dorian having much in common with the ‘vint mages he’d fought there was not a good one. It bothered him, not in the least because he was embedded in the Inquisition until Corypheus went down, and that might take years.

They’d been doing so well, too. Dorian didn’t use his magic on the people who spit on him and accused him of blood magic, didn’t use blood magic himself from what the Bull could tell, and had reacted to the idea of setting an orphanage on fire with shock. He was almost beginning to like the guy.

He kept himself relaxed, and smiled invitingly, his eye half-lidded. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he purred. “I _really_ like killing dragons.”

Dorian made a very Cassandra-like noise, so the Bull pressed a little harder. “All of that power, all of that potential for destruction, concentrated into one awesome package? Fuck yeah, I want to be one of the one who takes her out.”

“Well, then. I suppose they are dissimilar,” Dorian said, glaring mulishly into the fire. “There’s nothing particularly awesome about the Venatori. They’re a malignant tumor upon my homeland, and indeed, all of Thedas, and I wish to cut them out of it before they can spread any further.”

Oh, the Bull realized. That’s what was reminding him of Seheron. He knew that epxression. He'd worn that expression. As far as Dorian was concerned, he was down here fighting the Tevinter equivalent of Tal-Vashoth.

The fire nearly extinguished itself as Dorian released his control over the flames and stood up. “I think I’ll turn in now. Good night, Bull.”


	2. Tecum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One down, two to go.

They came across the Venatori encampment the following day. It consisted of a few zealots, a brute, and a pair of stalkers, along with a trio of mages- their leader was a spellbind with a wicked looking burn scar over the left side of his face.

“ _Iterum obvenimus, Tecum_ ,” Dorian greeted him.

“ _Pavus_ ,” the Venatori snarled.

“ _Ecce, matrifututor_!” Dorian retorted, and conjured a wall of fire around them both.

“Dorian!” the Inquisitor called out, but she was ignored, so they concentrated on dispatching the other Venatori and left that Tecum character to Dorian for now. The wall of fire went out just before the last Venatori fell, and Dorian stood victorious over his enemy’s smoldering corpse, and lobbed a fireball at the brute. The boss finished him up with a dagger in his spine, as Cassandra smited the last mage and then drove her sword through her skill, and then Lavellan rounded on Dorian.

“What the fuck was that?” she demanded.

“A Venatori encampment,” Dorian said. He was being flippant, but there was honest confusion behind the tone. “Killing them was the point of being here, was it not?”

“Yes, it was,” the Inquisitor snarled. “We came to kill them, because they’re enemies of the Inquisition, which is why we located them using Inquisition resources when you, a member of the Inquisition, gave us a tip about their existence.”

“I-” Dorian began, but fell silent when the Inquisitor cut him off with a hissed “ _Garas din’dirthan!_ ”

“You do not run off half-cocked and begin a duel in the middle of a battle,” she continued, switching back to Trade. “Failing that, you do not do so without telling the rest of your cadre what you’re going to do before you engage. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Dorian replied, sounding shocked.

Things were pretty tense for the rest of the day.

* * *

“Talk with him,” the Inquisitor implored him later that night, once they’d reached the tavern they were staying at.

“Are you sure about that, boss?” the Bull replied. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we don’t exactly get along.”

“Well, he’s upset with me, and he doesn’t get along with Cassandra or Solas either- neither of whom can engage him like you can,” Lavellan said. “Besides, you’re sharing a room.”

“So’s Solas,” the Bull pointed out.

“Solas hasn’t been around people all that much until recently, let alone part of a fighting force,” Lavellan countered easily. “You have.”

When the boss was right, she was right. The Bull went upstairs to their room, where Dorian had retreated with a bottle of brandy about a hour ago. The bottle had been full then- it was half empty now.

“I gave him that scar, you know,” Dorian said, before the Bull could even close the door. He looked a mess. There was a bit of blood and soot still smeared on the underside of his jaw, his hair and mustache were begin to uncoif, and he’d undone the top few buckles of his shirt, exposing the dip of his collarbone and a few tufts of chest hair. The room was sweltering, the fire was roaring, fed with magic and just barely contained by the grate and Dorian’s willpower. The human’s skin was covered in a faint sheen of sweat, which glistened slightly in the firelight.

He was mess, but damn if he wasn’t a hot mess.

“Really?” the Bull asked.

“Absolutely I did,” Dorian confirmed with vicious enthusiasm. “He said that Alexius had only taken me on as his apprentice because I was practically a whore myself, that Felix should have been drowned in a sack as a child, and that Livia had had him by some Soporati bricklayer in the first place. I told him that if want me to put him on his knees, he need only have asked, and then I melted half his face off.”

Dorian drank. The Bull watched him cautiously.

“Well. He sounds like he had it coming,” the Bull offered.

“Oh he did,” Dorian said. “He absolutely did, and worse. He was utterly irredeemable, and the world is a better place without him in it.”

There was clearly something Dorian wanted to say. The Bull waited him out.

“He was also my first clue to how badly things were going, with House Alexius,” Dorian added eventually. “We’d had arguments before, Gereon and I: I felt he was only prolonging Felix’s agony, he felt I’d given up on Felix, I felt he’d lost touch with reality, and around and around we’d go. I had family obligations, unavoidable ones. It was the first time I’d been grateful to return home in years.”

He necked some more brandy from the bottle, his eyes gone a little glassy from memories and drink. Once more, the Bull waited for him to speak.

“And there he was, Tecum of House Lucomenes, the very same man I’d burned the face off over his insults to House Alexius, one of those people who felt like Felix’s life cheapened the entire Altus class. And Alexius was consulting with him, as though he could help Felix, could even want to put in the effort to ease his suffering. We had a terrible row, I got kicked out, and that was the last I heard from any of them until Felix managed to get me a message about the Venatori. The fucking Venatori, of all the cults he could have latched on to. The mind boggles.”

Dorian sighed, and took another drink.

“Was Felix not a mage?” Bull asked. He was pretty sure he remembered seeing Felix carrying a staff, but then again, he’d never seen the kid use it.

“Not by the standards of the Altus class,” Dorian said with a snort. “Felix was like- oh, what’s her name. The elven woman who had Helisma’s job in Haven.”

“Minaeve?”

“That’s the one. Anyway, Felix was like that: technically a mage, but with no power or talent with it. That happens, sometimes. Oftentimes the child in question suffers an accident before the rumors can take properly root. Livia and Gereon, however- they loved him. They wholly, unreservedly, and unconditionally loved him. He could have been born blind, deaf, and legless, and they would have cared for him no less.”

Considering that Alexius had almost literally destroyed the world trying to save his son, the Bull had no trouble believing that.

“Felix was-” Dorian began, and then cut himself off with a sarcastic chuckle. He raised his bottle to the ceiling in a mock salute, and began again. “Felix of House Alexius was a beloved son, the best friend you could hope for, and criminally underappreciated by Tevinter society at large. He was a brilliant mathematician, and decent kaval player, and moreover had a talent for making you want to be the best version of yourself possible.” He’d been addressing the ceiling, but looked over at the Bull in order to hiss “Stick _that_ in your bloody Ben-Hassrath spy reports.”

He drank deeply.

“Dorian,” the Bull began.

“No, no!” Dorian interrupted him. “You must write about it, truly. In fact, I insist upon it.”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” the Bull said. “Why do you want me to write to my superiors about your friend?”

“Because you write that eulogy down, verbatim, then it will stay in your records unedited until one or the both of our people capitulates. Meanwhile, in Tevinter people will have already started turning the Fall of House Alexius into some kind of morality play about the importance of duty and rationality over passion and sentiment. And down here, no one gives a damn. He’s a ‘vint. A ‘vint mage. Clearly he’s as guilty as the rest of us. I’m certainly not able capable of changing anyone’s mind!”

Dorian jerked his hand in the direction of the fire, which suddenly died down until it was a third of its previous size. It was a telling gesture, and what it told the Bull was this: that Dorian’s emotional control was fraying, and that he didn’t actually want to hurt anyone.

“Look, Dorian,” the Bull said, throwing all hope of subtlety up the flue where it belonged. “When the boss says ‘don’t go off half-cocked without telling anyone’, what she means is ‘you’re part of the team, don’t go off on your own and die’, not ‘I don’t trust you’. The Inquisitor doesn’t have a problem with _you_ , she just has a problem with you cutting yourself off from the team.”

“And how did you come by this information, pray tell?” Dorian asked.

The boss had more or less ordered him to come up here and tell Dorian that, but even without that… “Experience,” the Bull told him. “If any of my boys had pulled a stunt like that, they would get the same dressing down from me. If, tomorrow, Cassandra pulled that stunt with her renegade Templars, or Solas with the Fade, or me with the dragon, then she’d tell us off too.”

“Really?” Dorian asked, sounding skeptical.

“What, you want me to try to take on that dragon single-handedly tomorrow and prove it?” the Bull challenged.

“Of course not, don’t be idiotic,” Dorian snapped.

The Bull smirked at him, and he visibly regretted his word choice.

“For one thing, she’s bound to bring Solas, yourself, and Cassandra to fight the dragon, as it’s a fire-breathing dragon, and therefore I would not be there to witness your suicide,” Dorian hastily continued. “For another thing, as we have previously discussed, the Venatori are hardly dragons.”

“No shit,” the Bull replied. “That’s kind of my point. It’d be real embarrassing for you to get killed by some lesser ‘vint when you could get killed by a dragon.”

He made sure to growl the last word, in the same tone of voice he normally reserved for redheads, and was rewarded when Dorian stared at him in blank-eyed incredulity.

“What do I bother speaking with you?” he asked finally.

“Because I’m an excellent listener,” the Bull told him. “And you want your words to be remembered.”

“Well, you’re not entirely wrong,” Dorian sighed, and tipped the bottle back again.

“Also, you like watching me flex,” the Bull couldn’t help but add, with a little demonstration.

Dorian grunted, and chugged the rest of the brandy in one go.

* * *

Later, the Bull worked on his reports. He waited until his roommates were asleep, Solas laying down and drifting off immediately as usual, Dorian propped up on his side so he wouldn’t asphyxiate if he vomited in his sleep. Across the hall, he could hear Cassandra and Lavellan giggling, probably at the stage of drunk where Lavellan would weave flowers in Cassandra’s hair and Cassandra would forget they were there until midday tomorrow.

It wasn’t like his reports were exactly secret. He’d been upfront about them when Lavellan hired the Chargers, and then Lavellan had informed the others. She’d made a point, actually, of dropping down next to him after they’d recruited the mages, and commiserating about the weirdness of events: _I don’t envy you. If I still had spy reports to write to home about this stuff, I’d be at a loss as to how to describe this one._

She’d said it right in front of Dorian and Grand Enchanter Fiona too, so it told them that not only was he a spy for the Qun, but that she’d also been a spy, and therefore they were equally trustworthy. That was certainly an interesting message to send, but when the boss was right, she was right.

Still. Just because they weren’t a secret didn’t mean that he wanted people to look over his shoulder and read them, even when they were just drafts.

He had his orders, after all. Keep your eye on Lavellan, because if the Dalish have spies they might be organizing. Keep your eye on Cassandra Pentaghast, on Sister Nightengale, on Mother Giselle, because any one of them could make or break the Chantry while it was without leadership. Keep an eye on Sera, because it might be useful to implant viddathari agents in among her Friends. Keep an eye on Blackwall, because the secrets of the Grey Wardens should be the secrets of the Ben Hassrath as well. Keep an eye on Varric, because he was close to the basalit-an Hawke.

Keep an eye on Dorian of House Pavus, because he could be important to the war later on.

That was who he was writing about now.

Mostly it was stuff for the dossier his superiors would undoubtedly want him to write up someday. Or, that’s what it became at least: he’d written down his words about Felix first, because they were obviously important to the guy, and tried to figure out their strategic value after the fact. In the end, he decided it was probably a good explanation for something that had been bugging him.

Dorian came from privilege, and in a lot of ways, he still acted like it, spoke like it, thought like it. He was stubborn about it too: he and the boss had had polite clash about slavery back when Haven was still standing, and since then, she’d taken to leaving books about it outside his nook. They were still there, their spines uncracked, gathering dust.

There was another conversation they’d had in Haven that was still bugging him. Lavellan had made the mages full allies of the Inquisition, and while Dorian certainly approved of it, he’d still spoken of caution: _This will give the mages here to be more like the mages at home. Magocracy isn’t a solution._

That was kind of a strange attitude for an Altus mage to have, especially a stubbornly independent mage who put little flourishes on the end of his staffwork, like he was expecting applause. He supposed that watching a friend- maybe his only friend, certainly his best friend- get spit on for his lack of magic might have helped shape that attitude.

He also realized that Dorian probably had a background in dueling. That would explain the flourishes, and the context for giving Telcum that scar. There were other things, though, that were bugging him now.

He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, and wrote down a list of things that didn’t quite fit.

  1. ‘practically a whore myself’: ‘vints fucked wrt sex (+everything), but seems more fucked than standard
  2. ‘unavoidable family obligations’ which D. did not like to have. Alexius described as patron/mentor. Not usual for Altus- family connections are more than enough.
  3. Dueling when home+ fighting Venatori in South= issues with government at home? More than vocalized?
  4. No sign of birthright, but unlikely to have been formally disowned



That was all shit which might add up into something that could be used against Magister Pavus. Might. It could also be a big huge personal mess that wouldn’t phase the Magister in the slightest, but would fuck up the Bull’s ability to work with his son in the long term. This wasn’t a list to share with his superiors either. Not without knowing all that he could first.

Bull put that parchment aside, and checked on his roommates again. Dorian was still on his side, snoring: Solas was on his back, as still and silent as the grave.

He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, and wrote something that he was going to send back to Par Vollen:

_I am requesting the full dossier for Dorian of House Pavus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tevene** :  
>  _Iterum obvenimus_ : "We meet again."  
>  _Ecce, matrifututor_ : "Behold, motherfucker" as per [this](http://interretialia.tumblr.com/post/79859912700/de-modis-qui-ad-iuncta-verba-latina-facienda-non) post.
> 
>  **Elvhen** :  
>  _Garas din’dirthan_ : Literally "come to the place where speech ends", perhaps more accurately translated as "come to the place of shutting up", or "shut the fuck up".


	3. Nyrtia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And another one bites the dust.

It was three months before they pinned down the location of the second encampment: a magister named Nyrtia Labanus was bunkered down in the Exalted Plains.

“Labanus is probably the most dangerous of the Venatori I was tracking before leaving for Redcliffe,” Dorian told them. Lavellan had given him leave to do the briefing, probably in the hopes of stopping him from going off on his own again. “She’s ruthless, a malificar, and…” Dorian paused, and turned to the Bull. “And a former member of Tevinter’s military. She was in the army for five years, three of those spent on Seheron.”

The Bull felt a shiver run down his spine. “Which years?” he asked.

“9:29-30, and then 9:32,” Dorian replied. “She’s decorated, actually. She has _armillae_ for the Fourth Reconquest of Naqarshi, the Fifth Reconquest of Qaalaqis, and the Eighth Defense of Traxiane. She also has three separate _phalerae_ for valor, a good half-dozen Silver Cups, and a Headless Arrow. ”

“How far up the ranks did she get?”

“She was honorably discharged at the rank of vexillator, and given a seat in the Magisterium at the same time. And before you ask, yes, that was because of Traxiane.”

“Vashedan,” the Bull swore.

“And for those of us who know absolutely nothing about Tevinter military, this means what, exactly?” the Inquisitor interjected.

“It means trouble, boss,” the Bull told her.

“More specifically,” Dorian said, with a hint of reproach. “She’s trouble with a distinguished military career.”

The Bull snorted at the word distinguished. “They killed almost a third of the civilian population in Traxiane. I don’t mean, a third of the civilian population died. I mean they slaughtered a third of the people trying to live there to summon demons. Almost no one was left when they were finished.”

“That’s quite true,” Dorian agreed. “The official story is, of course, that all the sacrifices volunteered, but none but the most delusional jingoistic fanatic actually believes the official story. The good news is that she doesn’t have a city’s worth of people to slaughter this time around. In all likelihood, she doesn’t have anyone but her own soldiers to draw upon. Empress Celene’s troops can bunker down in the Citadelle du Corbeau, Duke Gaspard’s people have Fort Revasan, and the Freemen are too scattered to be taken in large amounts. That just leaves locking down our own camps… and the Dalish.”

“And the Dalish,” the Inquisitor agreed, already halfway to the tent flaps. “Tillens!”

“Ma’am?” replied the requisition officer. Apparently, her name was Tillens.

“The Venatori we’re hunting is a malificar with a penchant for multiple-person sacrifices. We need you to send word to the other Inquisition camps, Fort Revasan, Citadelle du Corbeau, and the Dalish encampment that they should lock down their perimeters until we’ve dealt with the problem.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Tillens replied. Lavellan did quite manage to get her head all the way back inside the tent before the officer added “We don’t have any elves here, ma’am, except for yourself and Sera.”

Sera, whose eyes had started glazing over when they were discussing military decorations, blew a raspberry.

“Then send me your calmest human,” Lavellan replied, ignoring Sera for now. “I’ll write a letter of introduction for them, and tell them what to say.”

“So this Newt-tiered lady,” Sera said, hopping up to study the map on the table. “You’ve fought her before, yeah?”

“Not one-on-one: I fought at Naqarshi, and I would have fought at Traxiane, but you can’t really do anti-guerilla warfare against demons.”

“I have,” Dorian said. “Fought her one-on-one, that is. It was a demonstration duel, so neither one of us was fight at full strength, but I did fight her, and I did win.”

The Bull looked at him askance.

“What?” Dorian demanded.

“We’re not just down here finishing up old duels of yours, are we?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Dorian snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Getting back to the matter at hand,” the Inquisitor interrupted. “You know how she’s going to move her people around, Bull, and you know what kind of spells she favors, Dorian?”

“I know ‘vints, boss,” the Bull assured her.

“About all I can tell you about the blood magic is that it impedes the effects of health potions and such,” Dorian said. “Her favored element is ice, but if you melt enough of it and are foolish enough to step in a puddle, she’s proficient in lightning as well. She’s a dab hand at dispelling magic, and also on conjuring life wards.”

“She’ll use that on any sacrifices she’s going to make,” the Bull said. It was Dorian’s turn to look at him askance. “The longer your heart’s beating, the longer you can be bled. Isn’t that right?”

“Your knowledge in this area clearly outstrips mine,” Dorian retorted.

“Gentlemen,” the Inquisitor interrupted. “We’re already down a man. You’re going to have to work together.”

The Bull grunted, sparing a thought for Solas, who’d gone off on his own after his spirit demon crap took a turn for the worse. Hopefully, he’d managed to get clear of the vexillator- confirmation that she was here hadn’t actually arrived until this morning.

“I’m sure we can all agree that there’s a common good to be found in killing Labanus,” Dorian said, and the Bull did his best to put his unease aside.

* * *

Dorian of House Pavus might be most recently of Minrathous, but his family (father, Magister Pavus, one of the biggest war hawks in the Magisterium, and mother, an unknown entity) was based out of Qarinus. It was something he tried not to think about: you see, Qarinus was only a stone’s throw away from Seheron, and was the staging ground for a lot of their military offenses. The Imperial Officer’s Academy was based there, and the Imperial Navy. Most of the troops the ‘vints shipped over shipped from there, and a lot of the refugees, prisoners, and slaves they took in from the island went there first.

They’d sent raiding parties down that way, sometimes, when they had the Warashi Peninsula locked down tight enough to risk it. More often, ‘vints he’d been hunting- ‘vints who’d done even worse than sacrifice hundreds of people to fight the Qun off- escaped to there. Some of them had gone straight from the docks to the Pavus estate for dinner to celebrate. He never got any reports from inside the Estate- he remembered having the impression that House Pavus vetted their slaves too well for them to get people on the inside- but that didn’t mean they didn’t have anyone watching the door.

Dorian probably went to some of those dinners. Actually, he certainly went to those dinners regularly, probably from the time he was old enough to manifest his magic right up until he left. He went to dinner with people who kept eight-year-old sex slaves and burned orphanages and arranged for prisoners of war to be possessed and worse. He’d broke bread with them, laughed at their jokes, probably thanked them politely for their company at the end of the evening, even if he’d known some of what they’d done.

He was trying not to think about it. He was. It wasn’t helped by the way Dorian kept pulling out his creepy necromancer shit. That was kind of a new thing for him- he wasn’t comfortable using it out in the field like he was using fire spells.

Most of the time, Bull was just fine with that. The horror spell would send people who would normally be a little jittery at the sight of a Qunari into a full-blown gibbering panic, which was actually pretty funny. Also, that walking bomb trick, where he exploding his enemies heart right out of their chest and sent gore everywhere? That really worked for him.

Normally, at least, it worked for him. Right now, his horns were itching, and he had a bad feeling about everything.

* * *

“This isn’t a natural fog, is it?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Nope,” the Bull replied. Even if he’d never set foot on Seheron, he would have been able to tell that: the Fog sat, thick and sourceless, clinging to the side of the cliff and cutting off abruptly before it reached the rest of the plain below them, which was clear and dry.

“I’d heard speculation that the Fog Warriors didn’t take advantage of a natural phenomenon, but rather manufactured it, but no one could quite figure out how,” Dorian remarked.

“Looks like Labanus did,” the Bull pointed out.

“Quite,” Dorian said curtly.

“Any idea what we’re walking into?” the Inquisitor asked.

“She won’t come out and face us, if that’s what you mean,” Dorian said. “She’ll want us softened up first, if not killed outright.”

“There’ll be marksmen waiting, probably up high in the cliff face,” the Bull told her. “There will be heavy-hitters, but I’d also prepare for stalkers to use the fog to slip right up to you unnoticed.”

“Getting rid of the fog would be preferable,” the Inquisitor said.

“There must be some sort of locus for it,” said Dorian. “If we can destroy that, then the fog should dissipate.”

“Wouldn’t the locus have to be in the middle of the fog?” the Bull asked.

“Yes?” Dorian replied.

“That’s still a lot of fog.”

“Pshaw,” Sera said, wrinkling her face. “If you can get the marksmen to shoot, then I can see where the shootings come from, and shoot back.”

“That’s a good idea,” the Inquisitor said. “I can sneak along the cliff face, and you can find some place to shoot them from. It’ll scatter their focus, which means you two can switch from being bait to being on point.”

“At what point were we bait, now?” Dorian asked.

* * *

They were bait pretty much from the get-go, actually.

It made sense. Dorian could conjure barriers and had a personal grievance with the ‘vint leading this camp of Venatori: the Bull was built for taking hits and the biggest target besides. This Labanus would probably mark them as the biggest threats anyway, an Altus and a Qunari. It made sense.

That didn’t stop the Bull’s skin from prickling uneasily beneath the barrier and the fog. Just because you know you’re stepping into a trap doesn’t mean that that trap won’t still do a number on you.

There was just enough time to hear the whistling of arrows before they were upon them: eight in total, and dripping with poison, coming from the east and north. Two of them would have connected with the Bull, and a third with Dorian.

Dorian set up the pre-arranged signal: two bursts of yellow flame (signifying three arrows each) follow by a single burst of blue (signifying two). A second volley hit, a bit more accurately than the first.

“Let’s go,” the Bull said, already shifting away. “Moving targets are harder to hit than stationary ones.”

“My barriers are holding, thank you,” Dorian scoffed, through he followed the Bull’s lead. “Though, I suppose this does lend verisimilitude to the whole charade.”

The third volley hit. There were only seven arrows, and only one of them would have hit.

“Should we maybe be making some kind of ruckus?” Dorian asked. “ _Argh! I’ve been hit_! Or something along those lines?”

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Dorian.”

The fog shifted abruptly, and suddenly instead of not being able to see two feet in front of their noses, they could see ten feet, straight ahead, to where the primary objective was.

He would have been able to pick Labanus out even in a crowded tavern. Her boots were Tevinter Imperial Army issue, she still wore her cloak and dagger like it was part of her uniform. Everything about her seemed to scream to him about Seheron from the way she stood to the way she cut her hair.

He started a bit, when Dorian threw a fireball at her. This wasn’t the asala-taar: he hadn’t lost track of where or when he was, and who he was fighting, but something about having a mage fighting alongside him wrong footed him in a way it hadn’t in months.

Labanus fade-stepped around the fireball and materialized to the Bull’s left. “So there’s no chance that I can convince you to be civilized about this?”

“You and I left civilized behind a long time ago,” Dorian retorted.

“So be it,” she hissed, and the fog closed around her once more.

There was another volley- only three arrows this time, and he could hear Sera’s laughter echoing down from the cliff-face as a gladiator’s maul materialized against the barrier covering his bicep.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian snarled. The next spell he cast diffused through the fog like lightning through a storm cloud, bathing everything in an eerie purple glow- except for the Venatori, who he could now see the silhouettes of, shaking in fear. Another volley, also with three arrows, though one of those was Sera’s and hit a stalker right in the eye.

“Nice one!” the Bull called out. “You too, Dorian.”

“I aim to please,” Dorian replied, and immolated one of the incoming zealots.

On another day, a better day, the Bull might have made something of that sentence. As it was, he just grunted and swung his axe into the next ‘vint, and the next, and the next, until the creepy purple glow had faded and left behind a thin pink mist swirling around the fog that had closed around them.

The last Venatori fell with an arrow in his hip and a staff blade slashed across his throat, Sera’s war chant of “Bits up, face down!” echoing around the plains.

“Inquisitor,” Dorian called out, cutting her off. “Is the fog moving?”

“How do you mean?” Lavellan replied.

“Does it look like the fog’s perimeters are shifting?” Dorian clarified. “The locus has to be in the epicenter of the fog, I need to know if it’s stationary or mobile.”

It took time for Lavellan to reply, during which she had a hissed conversation with Sera, the only part the Bull was able to hear being Sera’s indignant “Well, then why doesn’t he just say center instead of fancy-pantsing it up then?”

“It hasn’t moved since we’ve been up here,” Lavellan reported. “It looks like the center is maybe fifty feet north and twenty feet east.”

There’s the sound of a twig breaking, and that’s all the warning they get before the second wave approaches: enough time for the Bull to ready his axe and Dorian to swallow a lyrium potion. His horror spell lit up the fog once more, showing a half-dozen Venatori headed their way.

“Venhedis,” Dorian snarled. “She’s going to get away.”

The boss chose that moment to appear, a fistful of knockout powder in hand, to dispatch the gladiator closing in on Dorian.

“Sera and I have this in hand,” she said, sinking her blade into the Venatori’s chest. “Go.”

They went, Dorian pausing to cast a barrier around Lavellan before he took off, heading northeast, the sounds of the boss and Sera fighting at their backs.

“Snuffed it!”

“ _Ar tu na’din_!”

“Would you cut the elfy shite out?”

“ _Fenedhis lasa_!”

He got the impression from Dalish that that last one was actually elfy for ‘shit’. He was grinning as the barreled unexpectedly into the Venatori camp, a little dome of clear air completely invisible from the outside.

There were three Venatori soldiers left, two gladiators and a brute. And there, and the far side of the clearing, surrounded by bodies and looking quite calm, was Labanus.

“I’ve got her,” Dorian said.

“I’ve got the grunts,” the Bull replied.

It was a trap, but it was also the only way to kill her. Dorian grit his teeth against the cold and fade-stepped behind the Venatori rushing at them, and made his way towards her.

What happened next was a haze of bloodlust and clanging metal as the Venatori’s armor crumpled beneath his axe, Dorian existing on the edges of his awareness, flashing light and the smell of burning, and a source of healing after he manage a lucky swing at the brute and embedded his axe in her belly.

After the last soldier fell, he took a moment to let the red tunnel of his vision clear. The mages were taking a moment as well, it seemed: no spells were being cast, they were just circling around one another, searching out potential weaknesses after their first clash had born little fruit.

“Do you really think you can kill me, Dorian?” Labanus was taunting. “I know you thought of me as your friend.”

Dorian ignored her. “She’s mined area directly in front of you, Bull. Ice.”

Bull grunted in acknowledgement, and started to cautiously feel he way around the side of the clearing. Labanus’ eyes flicked over to him for a moment: Dorian used it to lob a fireball at her, which she dispelled with a lazy flick of her staff.

“A Qunari, Dorian, really. What would your father say?”

Dorian didn’t bother to respond, merely kept circling, his feet picking carefully around the puddles littered everywhere. The Bull edged a little closer, and noted that the bodies she’d been surrounded by weren’t dead: there was the tell-tale green glow of a lifeward around them, and he could see the terrified eyes of the closest one. They weren’t ‘vints, he thought: Freemen, most likely, or maybe lost Orlesian soldiers.

“Does he know you’re down here?” Another non-response: Dorian stepped into the puddle, leaping away when she sent a bolt of lightning, the momentum carrying him smoothly into the stance to cast a wall of fire, preventing her from moving any more to his left, and leaving her with her back to the Bull. That would have been handier if it weren’t for the ice mines: every time he moved, she conjured another one, keeping him at distance.

He’d just take the risk and plunge in, but he knew how Dorian fought by now- he’d fight for the Bull’s defense, not to take advantage of Labanus’ change in focus, and he didn’t need to hand her that kind of advantage.

“I don’t think he does,” she continued, giving no indication that the wall of flames burning right next to her rattled her at all. “I wonder what he’d say if I were to bring you back to him. Would I be able to get the support of House Pavus for the Venatori, do you think? He is willing to go quite far for you after all.”

Dorian shot another fireball at her, one which everyone standing in that clearing knew had no chance of hitting. It was a way to tell her to shut up without actually having to say the words.

She laughed.

“Is that why you’re so taken with the idea of killing me?” she asked.

“Amestris,” Dorian said, which drew her up short. “Mardonius, Pakorus, Stateira, and Viatrix.”

“Are those names meant to mean something to me?” she demanded.

“You’re a smart woman, Nyrtia,” Dorian replied. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“I’m sure I will,” she said, and extended her hand to one of the bodies littered around.

The man gasped and then died, a spirit mark appearing just before his chest exploded, gore jumping from his body to the ones around it, destroying the lifewards. Four corpses shambled upright, glowing faintly purple and under Dorian’s control.

“I was wondering when you’d try that,” he remarked.

Labanus swore, and sent a wall of ice shooting out towards the Bull, trapping him between it and Dorian’s wall of fire.

“Bull!” Dorian yelled, and he swung at the ice with his axe. It was already melting, the fire too close for it to hold itself solid, and sure enough, he had a chance to smell burning ozone just before the lightning hit.

His leg brace drew it like a lightning rod, and he collapsed, his bad knee giving out under the onslaught. He fell forwards, shattering the ice, and he felt Dorian’s flames dissipate behind him.

He opened his eye just in time to see a grenade land in front of him- one of Sera’s- and a healing mist enveloped him as the women stepped into view.

“I’m fine,” he snapped out, before anyone could ask, heaving himself back to his feet.

“Good,” Dorian replied. The Bull was surprised to find him staring at a pile of rocks in the middle of the clearing, instead of dancing around on the perimeter, waiting to hear the word ‘go’, but wasn’t surprised to find that the corpses were gone.

Then Dorian lashed out, a vicious slice of pure kinetic energy that cut the rocks neatly in two. All at once the fog closed in on them.

“We could have used that,” the Inquisitor said.

“I have every confidence in Dagna’s ability to reconstruct the pieces,” Dorian replied. “Can we go after her, please?”

“Lead the way,” Lavellan said.

The fog burned away quickly in the late-afternoon sunshine, leaving them with a clear view of Labanus waiting for them on the river bank, Dorian’s corpses left scattered in frozen chunks on the approach.

How many traps had this woman left for them? Probably as many as Seheron had taught her to. The Bull tried to guess: mines were the most obvious choice, but there was blood on her robes, and she could have stashed a sacrifice in the caves behind her-

The cave flickered suddenly with green light, and the Inquisitor swore as her Mark flickered to life.

“Don’t worry, Dorian,” Labanus said, sweeping her staff towards the river and freezing it over. “We’ll meet again soon, I have no doubt.”

The boss withdrew a pouch of potions from her vest, and tossed it to Dorian. “We’ve got this. Don’t lose her.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said, and sped off, slipping over the ice as he chased her across the river.

* * *

It took them a while to follow after Dorian once the boss had closed the rift: the ice Labanus had conjured had melted into the river, and it was too deep and fast for either Sera or the boss to cross safely. They scouted around for a tree or a ford, and when they came up empty the Bull had ended up carrying them on his shoulders.

“I’ve changed my mind!” Sera hollered, gripping tightly to his horns as the water pulled at her ankles. “You can throw me!”

It was easy enough to follow the mages once they’d arrived on the other side of the river: streaks of frost and charred wood left an easy trail. There was a halla, half impaled on a stump, whose blood was smeared around in unnatural patterns- the boss took a moment to close its eyes- and Sera swore as she nearly stepped on a lingering spirit mark.

When they finally came upon the two ‘vints, they were both running low on mana: the Bull could see the glint from broken vials of lyrium in the grass in the light of the sunset. Labanus’ hands were slick with blood, but her skin had taken on an ashen hue: she was on the verge of losing more blood than she could handle.

They were fighting beneath an outcropping, sparks from their staff blades as they dueled. The Bull watched them from the rock they were crotched behind. Labanus was using the same basic technique as Dorian, but without the flourishes, and Dorian was beginning to lose.

“Sera, you and I are going to sneak up top,” the boss decided. “Bull, when we attack, charge.”

They dropped down on all four and snuck off through the grass. The Bull waited, tamping down on the impulse to rush to Dorian’s aid now. The boss knew her shit, but he wasn’t sure that shit included blood magic.

The Bull knew blood magic, and he knew if Labanus was able to make Dorian bleed badly enough- with her staff blade, or by breaking his nose- then that would be it. She’d draw her power from there, and Dorian would be dead before any of them could move.

The wind picked up, carrying the sounds of their fight more clearly to the Bull’s ears.

“-slaves, Dorian,” Labanus was saying. “It was always their place to die in the service of House Pavus, that’s what they’re-”

The wind died down. The Bull focused on the scratch that fear demon had left down his side, and waited for the right moment to unleash his rage.

It came, finally, when Sera fired an arrow into Labanus’ foot. She staggered, stepping on one of the boss’ neat little traps, and the Bull roared, rushing her.

Labanus pulled upon her blood, conjuring a barrier just in time to avoid an arrow to the face. It wasn’t strong enough to last under his blows: it died within seconds, and then so did she.

They all stood around her, breathing hard. The Sera threw down another grenade of healing mist.

“Thank you,” Dorian said. “I definitely could not have managed her on my own.”

“No shite,” Sera told him.

* * *

By the time they’d gotten the pieces of the fog machine packaged up and retrieved the cache of their bedrolls, the sun was setting.

“Unfortunately, the closest place for us to shelter for the night is the Dalish encampment,” the boss told them, and it spoke to how tired they all were that it only got a bit of grumbling from Sera.

The Dalish Keeper was less sanguine about it.

“Your messenger said that you were hunting down a malificar,” he said, his eyes flicking over to Dorian. “From Tevinter.”

“I watched her murder five slaves for the pettiest reason imaginable,” Dorian said with a huff. “Not my fondest memory of home, to be sure.”

“And now she’s dead,” Lavellan said.

They set up in a little niche in the cave system the Dalish were camping out of. Sera stayed where she was, as though she was concerned that the elfiness might be contagious.

“I don’t suppose you have any of that rot gut that gave the Inquisitor such a headache after that dragon fight?” Dorian asked.

“You mean maraas-lok?” the Bull asked. “Nah, I keep that stuff back in Skyhold.”

“A pity,” Dorian said mournfully. “I could use the distraction.”

“Come to me when we’re at Skyhold and I’ll make you plenty distracted,” the Bull replied.

Dorian rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the Dalish merchant.

The Bull checked the perimeter: the Dalish had six hunters standing as sentries, their backs to the fire. That seemed reasonable enough. The boss was talking with Keeper Hawen, and he left them to it.

By the time he returned, so had Dorian, along with a half-dozen bottles of various shapes, sizes, and colors.

“Take your pick,” Dorian said with a lazy wave of his hand.

“What am I picking from?” the Bull asked.

“It’s all dandelion wine,” Dorian said. “Apparently, 9:38 was a good year for the stuff.”

Sera snort-giggled, her bottle significantly emptier than Dorian’s. “Didn’t even know they made weed-wine!”

“Six bottles?” the boss asked as she came in behind him. “And here I was worried that Taniel would overcharge.”

“Oh, I’m sure she did, technically,” Dorian said. “But I just gave her Nyrtia’s dagger in exchange, so no great loss there. Maybe she’ll use it to skin rams or something. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

* * *

The Bull checked the dead-drop halfway up the road to Skyhold, not expecting to find anything. It was one of the ones that he was pretty sure both Red and the boss knew about, and the Ben-Hassrath knew that they knew, and therefore it was unlikely that they would put sensitive information in it.

But there was something there- a very thick something. Dorian dossier had finally arrived.

The Bull carried it into Skyhold in the pouch behind the shoulder of his harness, and kept it there while he caught up with his boys in the tavern. He only took it out the following morning, once he’d gotten some rest and the morning light was good enough to see by.

Dorian’s complete dossier was still mostly about his father and his former mentor. Most of the stuff which was about his specifically was his academic record, which was a lot more checkered than the Bull would have guessed. He’d been to- and been kicked out of- pretty much every Circle in Tevinter, because he picked fights and was a cocky, insubordinate little shit.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised by that.

He’d spent a lot of time in brothels in his late teens and early twenties, and then had been taken in as Alexius’ apprentice, and from there the caterwauling diminished drastically, though apparently he was still fighting in duels three times a month for a couple of years.

Then there was the attack on the caravan Felix had been travelling with, and it only took six months for things with House Alexius to fall apart. Then there was rumors of a clash with House Abraxes, only to be quickly suppressed with Magister Pavus supported House Abraxes’ bid to be put in charge of overseeing public works in Marnus Pell. Then, some months after that during which Dorian had disappeared from the public eye, Magister Pavus stepped down from the Archon’s cabinet- rumors abounded, but nothing that their people could pin down.

The Bull went back over the stuff about Alexius and Dorian’s father, to see if there was anything new. There was, the most significant being a list of Magister Pavus’ apprentices.

The name ‘Nyrtia Labanus’ was on that list, and she’d been Magister Pavus’ apprentice during the time that Dorian had disappeared.

* * *

The Bull mulled over the implications of that information- pretty much all bad, some for Dorian, some for the Inquisition, and most for both- and bided his time. He left dinner before Dorian did, and waited by his nook for his return. The place had changed a little- a few more Tranquil staffing the place, some more books on the shelves- and the one that the boss had given Dorian, the ones about slavery, well. The top book in the pile was now sitting on the arm of Dorian’s chair, clearly being read.

“Bull,” Dorian greeted him, surprised.

“Hey, Dorian,” the Bull replied. “A little light reading before bed?”

Dorian spared a guilty glance at the book. “Not what I’d call it,” he said, flopping down in the seat. “Cassandra’s stash of ‘smutty literature’ is across the rotunda, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

He picked up the book, and hid his face behind it.

“Nah, actually, I came to talk to you,” the Bull told him.

“I’m not in the mood for distraction, thank you very much,” Dorian said, affecting a bored tone.

“How about answering a question?” the Bull asked.

Dorian put the book down and looked at him, his expression shuttered. “Only the one?”

“Yeah.” There was only one question the Bull could think to ask which might get him the information he needed to know, and not cause Dorian to shut himself back down. “Do we need to be worried about your father?”

That was clearly not a question Dorian had been prepared for. He blinked, his mouth slightly open in shock. In more than shock.

“No,” Dorian said finally. “Above all else, my father hates making a public spectacle of himself, and there would be no way for him to make any kind of deal with the Inquisition without a public spectacle.”

There were plenty of ways he could do that with plausible deniability that the Bull could think of. Dorian was a smart man- he could probably think of them too. “Really?”

“Really,” Dorian said firmly. “If I caught the slightest whiff of my father around here, I would make a _very_ public spectacle of it, and he knows it. Also, the way this entire war is being told in Tevinter is- something else entirely. The Venatori might be a cult of malificarum, but the Inquisition is _foreign_ , which obviously is just as bad. The whole thing has become a sort of abstract political circus, if you can believe it.”

“Well, yeah I can believe it,” the Bull said. “I remember you saying something about ‘an eye-watering slap-fight’ on Seheron.”

Dorian’s mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, and then he coughed. “That’s… a fair point,” he conceded, picking his book back up.

“What about you?” the Bull asked.

“Didn’t you say that you only had the one question?” Dorian asked.

“I asked if we had to worry about your father,” the Bull reminded him, pulling his book down so that he could see his face. “You told me that you didn’t think he’d come after the Inquisition, but what about you?”

“Well, I don’t see why you should think he’d come after me specifically,” Dorian said.

“You’re his son,” the Bull pointed out. “And some of the shit Labanus was saying-”

“I take your point,” Dorian said flatly. He was doing a good job at keeping his features neutral, and that was more telling than anything he might have done. He was worried about his father, no matter what else he might say. “The truth of it is, my father and I haven’t spoken in years, and it has been in excess of a decade since we’ve been able to speak to one another in a manner which could be considered civil. He used to send letters. I always burned them unopened, and he seemed to take the hint after a time. They’ve long since stopped coming. Honestly, if my father does see fit to contact me, it’ll probably be to demand that I stop using a name that is no longer mine.”

“You think he’ll disown you?”

“If he hasn’t already. One of the benefits of never having opened those letters is that I don’t know for sure.” Dorian shrugged. “If not, I’m sure my presence here is placing pressure on him in that regard.” He settled back against the chair with a sigh. “My estrangement with my family is- the best for all parties involved, really, it is. I don’t care for their choices, nor they for mine, and that in unlikely to change. We may as well formalize our mutual apathy.”

The Bull noted the sudden shift from a ‘he’ to a ‘they’. “So you’re mother’s a bit shit too?”

Dorian snorted. “Presumably. Honestly, if my relationship with my mother is more amiable than that with my father, it’s only because there wasn’t so much to ruin. Every time I can remember speaking with her since I lost my milk teeth has been like conversing with an old acquaintance I’d met on the street.”

There was something profoundly lonely about that. The Bull wasn’t normally affected by family shit- benefits of being Qunari- but something about that twigged his memory…

It was one of the last days of his time in reeducation. He’d been allowed out of the facility for a few hour, to stretch his legs. It was a test, and he knew it was a test, and they knew that he knew it was a test, and-

Well. Just because you know you’re stepping into a trap doesn’t mean that that trap won’t still do a number on you.

His old tamassran had been there, in the market. She’d come up to him, worry and relief evident on her face, and the Bull could feel the weight of the vidathiss’ unseen eyes upon him, and had stepped back. It wasn’t strictly in keeping with the Qun, the bond between an adult and the tamassran who had raised them, but most people looked the other way.

He’d known, that if he’d wanted to keep from being Tal-Vashoth, he was going to have to follow the Qun exactly. So he’d shied away from her, and greeted her as an old acquaintance he’d met on the streets. She’d been hurt by it, he could see it on her face, but she’d understood. She was always a smart lady, nothing got by her. She had to understand.

Dorian tugged his book free of the Bull’s grip, and the Bull turned his attention back to the here and now, where it belonged. He tried to remove himself from this scene, to see it as it would be seen in Tevinter: an Altus mage and full-fledged member of that foreign Inquisition, sitting opposite from a Qunari spy, reading a book about the evils of slavery, given to him by a Dalish spy.

“Would now be the right moment to remind you that I’m not in the mood for distractions?” Dorian asked.

“Are you still planning to go back to Tevinter?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dorian said with surprising firmness, as he looked up from his book. “It’s my home. I don’t expect you or anyone else to understand, but as deeply flawed as it might be, I love it, and I believe it can-”

“Whoa, big guy,” the Bull said, holding up his hands. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. I get it, having complicated feelings about home.”

“You… do?” Dorian asked, looking startled.

“I do.” The Bull pulled away from the railing he’d been leaning again. “Don’t worry, Dorian, I’m going to take all my big, distracting muscles away now and leave you to your bedtime story.”

“Eugh,” Dorian scoffed, and made a show of burying his nose in his book.

The Bull paused at the top of the stairs to look back at him, considering.

There was no such thing a pariah under the Qun. No Qunari could be said to be apart from the Qun without having left it entirely, or being reeducated. No Qunari ever said ‘we must change how things are done’ because the Qun, like the sea, was changeless.

The Bull was no longer sure that was such a good thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15866.html?thread=60464890#t60464890): Dorian's personal quest has him targetting specific Venatori that it's implied he has personal history with. So the prompt is - what caused Dorian to hate them so much?


End file.
